Chasing White Rabbits
by Project Hypocrisy
Summary: Watch as Alice falls down the rabbit hole to have tea with the Mad Hatter... WARNING: yuri paring and OC Rating will go up.
1. Prologue

**Chasing White Rabbits**

**Summary:** The Mad Hatter becomes engrossed with a strange human girl. What begins as a break in a routine to destroy the perfect exemplar of a human and protect hell by any mans necessary, ends in the unloved to be loved. But this love soon fails, for a fallen angel could never be loved nor love.

Note: Belial is a WO-man (well, as woman as an angel can get). No question about it. She has no male parts (if you know what I mean, *winkwink*). So, henceforth, Belial will be referred to as a "she".

It should also be noted that this is un-beta-ed, so far. Really, I just posted this chapter to see if I can get anyone interested into beta-ing it.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, nor do I own Jefferson's Airplane's White Rabbit. And yes, I do believe Mr. Carroll was smoking Opium while writing Alice's Adventures.

_Prologue_

_Through the Looking Glass_

Belial stood by the glass casing, letting her fingers slip against the cool glass, tracing gentle patterns. Though the occupant could not feel the gentle caress of her weathered finger tips, Belial imagined feeling the occupants flesh through the layers of glass, unidentified liquid and years of artificial living. A cat's cradle of string lined the case, which then traveled to the occupants flesh, pumping fake verve into the occupant who would otherwise been dead-as-a-doornail.

It was a silent romantic moment that died along with the occupant's necrosis flesh. Asmodeus decided to grace his little Butterfly with his charms and attempt yet again to inflict some sort of emotion upon Belial's emotionless face. Far too long has it been since he had invoked some discomfort in her soul. He would take pride in those moments; seeing the mighty Belial fall to his feet. It would only take a short moment before Belial would regain her pristine composure, but would leave Asmodeus so satisfied all the same. Strange how love and hate, being total polar opposites, could collide at times and be confused for the same sensation.

"Good evening, my dearest Butterfly, "he began to gnaw at her fleshy wound. Though she pretended not to hear his words, he knew she would hear this, "enticing your own butterfly out of her cocoon? Tragic she's knocking on heaven's door." Belial's breath was winded from her for a split moment before she realized what cat-and-mouse game Asmodeus was constructing. She wouldn't let herself become the mouse.

But neither could Asmodeus let Belial become the cat, "Down the rabbit hole she goes to drown in her own sea of tears, "gently he held Belial in his arms, his mouth pressed against her ear,"oh little Alice, little Alice, how cruel this Mad Hatter can be."

Belial took her elbow into his stomach, hissing venomously as he hacked, "dare to touch One without One's permission again and One will have no choice but create you a soft grave."

Belial looked to her frozen darling, her hair fluttering in a timeless motion. Yes she would forever be her little Alice, lost in Wonderland forever and never to return to Heaven. Belial mused whether-or-not she should become the incarnation of Greed instead.

* * *

VERY short, I know. Just a little taste of my fanfic, just to see if anyone's interested in beta-ing it or interested in the story itself. Let me know what you think of e-mail me with any in-depth pointers at: project_hypocrisy (at) hotmail (dot) com.

--Project_Hypocrisy


	2. Chapter 1

**Chasing White Rabbits**

**Summary:** The Mad Hatter becomes engrossed with a strange human girl. What begins as a break in a routine and to destroy the perfect exemplar of a human, ends in the unloved to be loved. But this love soon fails, for a fallen angel could never be loved nor love.

**Note:** Belial is a WO-man (well, as woman as an angel can get). No question about it. She has no male parts. So, henceforth, Belial will be referred to as a "she".

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, nor do I own Jefferson's Airplane's White Rabbit. And yes, I do believe Mr. Carroll was smoking Opium while writing Alice's Adventures.

* * *

_Chapter One_

_Sea of Tears and Other Strange Occurrences_

Rain called to her from the cool restriction of her tiny town flat. Rain, the patron saint of loneliness, was calling to her subtly with its pitter-patter on the tin roof. She took so many streets without looking where she was heading and finally came to a stop. Could it be that she found her location or couldn't possibly risk herself getting even more lost than she already was? She let the rain wash away her bun, once kept in such pristine condition atop her head and wash away the paint on her face to reveal a weariness that wouldn't have existed otherwise.

One was so passionately in love with the human race. With all its fragilities and it being fundamentally corrupt. One wanted to break away all misconceptions of such a strong and dominate race. To expose it for what it was, a poor mix-match of D.N.A. and cells, an experiment. One wanted to watch as their little worlds crumbled and everything burned with them. Yet One was on a mission. Not to disrupt the cycle of life and what-not, but to find a suitable bride for my Lord.

Was it the mission or the passion burning, wishing to consume me, which called me to her? I have been watching her for so long. A poor little young woman, thrust out into the world by the death of her mother. Her mother was a pious woman, instructing her children the only way she could, through the Bible and the Church. There was only one way, the way of Goodness, of Virtue and the path of God. There was no question, until she gave birth to her daughter. Once her daughter was birthed, the Devil had taken away her husband violently by the temptation of the drink. He drank so heavily it had taken his life, silently, while he slept on a train bench waiting for his mail.

This young woman knew nothing of the world but what was fed to her and by the many dusty novels in her library, romance novels that took her away on an indeterminate journey. They became dusty, not by their idleness, but by their new home on her nightstand. She would stay up by candle light just to whisk herself away for one more moment.

The rain began to numb her flesh; she no longer felt her skin retract onto itself. It almost felt liberating to be so damned cold. To feel nothing but the washing away of everything was liberating. The rain bringing everything down into the sewers, where her filth belonged, liberated her. She wanted nothing more than freedom from her own shackles. Nothing more than to escape what she had become; this drone, failing everything she dreamt to be.

But she never failed what other's perceived her to be; this nurturing young lady, meant to care for her ill brother and hold light-hearted tea parties with the pretty little dolls she calls "friends". One loved to watch as she would pass the borderline between the proper and the scum of France, just averting her eyes for a moment, to catch a glimpse of the shadows her mother isolated her from. Just for a moment, so no one else could see her properness falling astray. One wonders if she ever caught a glimpse of Oneself as One leant on an ancient building, smoking, watching...

Her properness makes One shiver with delight. She is the perfect exemplar of the failure of an "ideal" human. There exists not perfection... Not even in the eyes of such a delicate young lady.

One let my umbrella lean forward to catch the drops that pelted down on her pastel dress, rendering it nearly see-through. Her eyes opened from her ecstatic slumber, wondering where the rain had gone. Had it left her, just like everyone and everything that trampled through her life? One loved to see those pretty little eyes light up with curiosity and wonder. With her eyes, One could see a million questions being asked.

"You look rather cold, ma chère," I offered, holding out my hand to pluck her from the sidewalk.

She smiled politely, "thank you. But I suppose I deserve what I get."

She stood up by herself and walked in the direction she imagined was home. One followed, not willing to let our meeting rest on these few words spoken. One wanted to expose her, One wanted to slice her mask up, wanted to tear her charade into little pieces. She walked in a steady pace, realizing suddenly how cold she was and how her body trembled, trying to fight off her abuse.

"Please," I called to her, "allow Moi to take you home."

She looked behind herself, without stopping, "no, no. I'm quite all right, thank you." But her eyes weren't in front of her and she didn't see the sudden brake in the cobble walkway. She fell forward and landed on her wrists. One hurried to dive in and pick her up but she had already decided to get herself off the ground. She pushed at her hair that lay in random strains, pasted on her face to reveal a sickly looking creature. She looked ill, with her rosy blush running down her face, revealing years she lived that could only be matched with the years lived by a ninety year old woman, poor and childbirth-ridden. She was mighty old looking, beyond her years and it begun to show in the wrinkles of her frown and the cave-in sides of her cheeks. She worried for those times she laughed, ten-fold.

One laid One's jacket on her shoulders, gathering her under the umbrella, "Let Moi take you home, ma chère."

She was swept up by this final act of generosity or perhaps she had given in to my persistent nature. She did not particularly like this idea of being scooped up in the arms of a stranger and letting said stranger take her home. But little did she know that One was not a stranger; One knew her better than anyone else. But she was thankful all the same, for if it wasn't for One, she would have been lost forever and wouldn't have found her way until she died of pneumonia. It was One's subtle guiding that led her back into the comfort of her town flat, tiny yet warm.

She looked to One as she opened the door, "would you like to come in, kind stranger? Warm yourself by my oven and fire; I can't have you being ill." Yes, yes, obligation; it was her obligation to let me in. It was out of kindness that she led me. It was of properness that she hid her curiosity under kindness and obligation.

"Moi would be terribly honoured, ma chère."

She led One even further into her home, not daring to let One linger any longer outside. This was to be discrete and out of obligation and out of kindness... Oh, how One loved to see her tear herself apart, trying to understand just exactly on what side of the tracks she belonged to.

One was to sit at the petite table that once was made to sit four, but with the dwindling numbers of family and friends, it was cut down to a two-seated table. One sat down, nonetheless, watching as she prepared tea for two. She lit the new cast-iron stove she purchased after years of saving pennies and placed her finest pot. The one she loved to use with her high-class dollies she would have over from time to time.

"Please excuse me," she went hurriedly to the stairs that led upstairs to where she hid her room. She had noticed how almost bare she looked in that little pastel pink and yellow dress she had made from left over material.

She came down in a hurry; her hair had the time to be quickly scuttled around and pulled into a bun. She pulled the kettle off of the burner and took the tea leaves out. She settled down and got back up just as quick, her nail on the index tapping her lip in punishment: she had forgotten the milk and sugar cubes. She hated milk's creamy scum it would leave on the skin of the tea. She hated how the sugar stole the tea's lingering bitterness. She would set out the little condiments for One and smile in apology, but she won't touch those things just to make a guest feel comfortable.

She poured the water and pushed the can leaves towards One's hand, and waited for the guest to be served. Such a gracious hostess. Such a fine of hostess. Once One was served she cautiously served herself, trying to make it not apparent that she was quite strange in her tea drinking habits. One was curious; how did tea taste? One put nothing as well, drinking the liquid in a savouring fashion and found the whole experience quite educational. I was taught that tea was just fine on its own, quite fine actually, and the bitterness seemed to be growing on One fondly. She was wary to smile; could this stranger be mocking her? But One wasn't the type to let such harsh feelings linger, "so strange Moi had to try it."

"And did you like it?"

"Moi will change Moi's tea drinking habits from now on."

"Alice! Al-icé!" It was the call of a frantic brother charging down the stairs. One was certain her was out to work. One had ascertained we would be alone.

"Ma crevette, Alice! Tu la mis--!"

He entered the kitchen, his shirt not completely tied, his collar lifted and his neck tie nowhere to be seen. His eyes searched bewilderedly for a broom to shoo away a stray cat such as Oneself.

"Francis!" She introduced, "could have sworn you lived in a barn."She hissed aside from possible spectators.

"Who's this?"

"Your neck tie is in your room on the door." She tried to usher him away, pretending to have heard nothing.

"Who's this?" He tried again, louder this time.

"Um—"She began, a red blush creeping her cheeks.

"Oh, excuse Moi for any possible rudeness against the young master," One held out One's hand and the brother had taken it being caught off guard, "Moi's name is of no importance; but they do call Moi the Illusionist in these parts. "

"Illusionist? What are you?"

"Francis!"

"Ah-ha, an excellent question. " One took off One's hat and pulled out a flower, which One placed to the nose of One's newest fair maiden, "Moi is none other than a traveling magician."

The wonder in the young woman's eyes was not mirrored in her brother's, but he knew One meant no harm, yet.

"Where did you say my neck tie was?"

"In your room."

Yes, he still had a duty. And he knew that One wouldn't be long. Young Alice could drive away men; explained how alone she was. But One had far better ideas. One took a card from One's hat and placed the card in her hands. One then garnished her with the blue rose in her hair.

"Moi must leave, ma belle Alice. À toute à l'heure."

She placed her hand on One's arm, a gesture of a friend, "yes, we will see each other again, Illusionist."

* * *

A\N: I've completed an outline of this story. Now all that's left is actually writing it. I personally don't like this chapter. But it's rather necessary and I can't see any way of making it better. If any of you have any advice to give a poor writer, I'll be more than happy to hear from you!

* * *


	3. Chapter 2

**Chasing White Rabbits**

**Summary:** The Mad Hatter becomes engrossed with a strange human girl. What begins as a break in a routine to destroy the perfect exemplar of a human and protect hell by any mans necessary, ends in the unloved to be loved. But this love soon fails, for a fallen angel could never be loved nor love.

Note: Belial is a WO-man (well, as woman as an angel can get). No question about it. She has no male parts (if you know what I mean, *winkwink*). So, henceforth, Belial will be referred to as a "she".

It should also be noted that this is un-beta-ed, so far.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, nor do I own Jefferson's Airplane's White Rabbit. And yes, I do believe Mr. Carroll was smoking Opium while writing Alice's Adventures.

* * *

_Chapter Two_

_The Bottle on the Glass Table_

Alice contemplated the ticket lying on the table over a glass of absinthe. The strong yet soothing liquid ran through her throat and through her veins; the ticket tempting her fragile mind. The waiter offered her another, and although temptation was strong, she retained herself. Her brother would be waiting for her at home for his supper and she needed to finish the last suit of the day before she closed up shop. But the ticket's soft texture called her back to the present, to the little café... No, she was ridiculing herself by even thinking about the strange man! He had his face painted. In public! And talked to strange young ladies that sat on the side of the road in the rain... And dressed in such exotic clothes... And talked with an intriguing accent... And...

She shook her head and took another swig of her glass to find it empty. She was about to call the waiter to take up his offer but found her brother walking down the road to their house. She left a few francs and left the café quickly, a bolt of material under her arm.

"Francis! Attends-moi!" She flagged down her brother from further down the road, trying not to make a spectacle of herself.

He waited, like a good brother and even offered to take the bolt of material. He could smell the alcohol off her breath and even if she would defend her position endlessly, saying she was only having a coffee, Francis knew his sister drank. He was possibly the only one that had seen this as a problem; and therefore he wondered if could be a problem at all. Whether she was drunk though was another matter and he wasn't about to risk the bolt of material in the process of figuring out. She didn't let him touch it but took his arm and they walked down to their town flat.

"Hard day at work, my dear brother?"

He shrugged his shoulders, adjusting his neck tie with his free hand. The wind was rushing in fast. It was definitely heralding the coming of winter. He looked to his sister, she wasn't wearing a coat.

"It's mid-November, Alice, where's your coat?"

"My coat? Of all things to worry about."

"Where is it, Alice?"

"Oh, Francis, the sleeve was falling off. I just hadn't the time to repair it."

He slapped his free hand to his forehead. The sleeve was falling off. Story seemed to fit seeing as the stupid coat was nearly seven years old. It was a ratty little thing. The fur around the collar smelt rancid. The threading was coming apart. He needed to buy her a new one, if she wasn't going to.

They walked into the house, unlocking the door before they did. The house was beginning to feel frigid, Francis noted, this would be a very frightful winter. Alice went right to work and he left her. He went up to his room to finish balancing some books. Before he did, he looked to his sister for what seemed like the first time in so long, taking note of the heavy lines criss-crossing her forehead. How old _was_ she? He knew that she couldn't continue this, this charade. To put him through school next year... and Oxford, of all places as well. It was a nice fantasy, but nothing more than that.

Not a moment of being alone, a tinkle of a bell announced a costumer. Alice turned around with a painted grin but that painted grin suddenly turned into an open jaw. She couldn't believe her eyes. The woman was a pure gem, all prim and proper, much unlike the dirty child she grew up with.

"Émilie, tu est... You are..." Alice was at lost for words; _that_ was unlike _her_.

"Thank you Alice." She took off her little lace gloves one by one, gingerly holding them in her delicate grasp, a playful smile on her lips.

"What are you, "she contemplated for a moment, not believing the sight before her, "doing here? Your boat—"

"Yes, my boat is leaving tomorrow morning. But... A letter isn't enough, Alice. I won't leave you without a proper goodbye. There's too much I'll leave behind if I don't say my farewell to you; face to face."

Alice was silent. She really wished Émilie hadn't. She really wished that letter was the last of it. The numbers of the people she could count on were slowly dwindling. And one of these numbers was on her way to the Americas to join her new husband in Québec. She wrote to Alice describing in detail her first trip to the French colony and how it reminded her of France. It was as if she had never left. Alice knew that France did not mean their friendship to Émilie. Then, why was she here?

"We will write, like always." Alice assured, if it would assure her any. They hardly did write to each other, especially after Émilie found herself a strapping young man as her husband. The dirty little rambunctious girl became an obedient housewife right under Alice's nose.

"I pray that we do, Alice."

They looked at each other, without much of a word split between them. Alice did not advance to her childhood friend, nor did Émilie make an effort to meet Alice behind her counter. There was a sense that everything that needed to be said was said. There was a sense that nothing else could be said or should be said for fear that Émilie would not go on with it. She needed to leave France. She needed to leave Rouen and rid herself of stagnant memories.

"Come with me."

And she knew that Alice needed an escape more than anyone she knew.

"No, Émilie."

But duties held her back.

"You can make a new life for yourself! And for Francis! There is nothing left for us here, Alice. France is a dying country, a place for romantics to mourn over. The West is opening its door to people like us. Young, strong willed people willing to make a new life for ourselves. I've even begun to learn English!"

"I'm a tired old woman now. I can't leave here and start a new life. I'm an old stubborn relic. I won't learn English."

"Alice—"

"I belong here, Émilie. If I go to Québec, what will ensure that _I_ will want a new life? I'm quite comfortable here."

"No you aren't. You're suffocating yourself here!"

Alice smiled disarmingly, "if I go to the West, I'll only further myself away from Oxford. I won't deny my brother of his deserved education."

Émilie heard the carriage pulling up to the small shop but Alice made a point to remind her, "go. You need this new life... for yourself. You needn't worry. Send me word when you've reached Québec."

Émilie just seemed to passively accept Alice's response. She knew it was worthless to try in the first place, but she did, hoping that something would awake in her. Hoping that her long dead wilful spontaneity would awake and drive her away from the small town flat in Rouen that was seemingly emptying quite quickly. She saw her fiancé step out of the car, gesturing to her.

"Take care of yourself, Alice."

"You as well, Émilie. Don't poison your new fiancé with your horrid cooking."

"I'll try."And she step out of the store and into the carriage, not looking back in hopes of leaving with some dignity.

Alice took her purse, and when she saw that the carriage drove far enough away, she walked on into the brisk evening. The craving for that drink she neglected had arisen. She walked up to the café, ignoring all that attempted to make small talk with her. Why all the townspeople that knew of her seemed to be out in such an evening, Alice couldn't understand. She just curtly nodded and lined herself to the café. She allowed to host to seat her and ask for her poison. She would have responded cyanide to make small talk, but she knew he wasn't there for such frivolities. He probably had a pretty little wife at home, perhaps a child. She asked him for a glass of absinthe, like she always did. She loved this café. No matter how many times you ordered for the same thing, they chose not to remember it and you weren't given stares.

She was placed in the back of the café, by herself, despite the couple beside her, sipping their Venetian coffee and the man swirling his scotch around large blocks of ice. She pulled her wrap closer to her shoulders, trying to bat off chill that was climbing in her flesh. But the waiter had come sooner than expect with her order and Alice expected the chill to leave her. She sipped luxuriously at the drink, trying to seem sophisticated, although the hunger for the drink was almost savage.

When the drink landed into her stomach, she received a strange taste for the arts. Particularly a magic show. Perhaps more of the drink would land her there. Perhaps she would meet the Illusionist. Perhaps he would buy her another drink. She laughed to herself which got her nothing but strange looks from the couple. The man was drunker than she was, for he was laughing to himself at his own strange thoughts and paid no attention to any looks. She called for the waiter and asked him for another. He nodded and went off. She made a mental note to give him a well deserved tip. Perhaps another drink would instead drown this temptation and her loneliness would flutter away.

The door bell tinkled for the fifth time since she arrived. But this time she decided to pay attention to who entered. Something in her stirred and made her hand cover her face. _Not here. Don't make him notice that I'm here. Not here._

"Mademoiselle," her head snapped to the waiter, causing some alarm in the waiter, "votre boisson."

"Merci." She was about to take the cup but someone had taken the cup into their hands, smiling widely. It must have been the paint that caused the illusion; it was impossible for someone to have such a great smile.

"Je vais servir la jeune dame." He had indeed found her, caught her in the act of being strange, yet again.

She had gotten up, placed francs onto the table and was about to avoid the magician, but his hand grabbed her arm, gently holding her back. "Please, Alice. I just wish to return something to you."

"What is it?" she was about to be brief with this encounter. Somehow she wanted him to tied her down and hold her back indefinitely. But she knew how wrong it seemed. Oh the man was in her house, she invited him to her house! The neighbours could have seen if they were looking out in the pleasant rain! But something...

He let her arm go to fetch something in his pocket. He placed a handkerchief over the drink, quickly tugged it off and exposed a ticket in his hand.

"You had forgotten it here. Whether you meant to or not—"

A sudden relief took over her so strongly she ignored her conscience and let her thankfulness out, "I can't believe I had forgotten it! Thank you!" She took the ticket and noticed her grave mistake. She let him know that she was wistfully looking at that damned thing, contemplating the possibility of actually going to a show.

"It is my pleasure, as always." He took his hat off and bowed deeply. It was his intention to further pursue her weakened state, but he decided not to take the unfair advantage. It wasn't his style. Let the taste for him brew a little while longer. And he walked out.

She held the ticket to her bosom, childishly blushing. The man was indeed an illusionist: creating this unjust world of fantasies that made her believe she was indeed living them.

* * *

She looked to Amosdeus, a constant look of distain plastered above the make-up, above the soft alabaster skin, "take care of her."

He let out a long winded laugh that nearly folded him over onto the floor, "you're leaving your little Alice here? With me? To rot away? What a sudden change of priorities!"

She nearly spat in his face for such blasphemy. But she remained cool; he couldn't possibly be worth it. "I don't have to explain myself to the likes of _you_."

He knew well enough that Hell was in a mighty uproar ever since her precious Lucifer vanished without a trace. Oh yes, he knew that Lucifer was nowhere in sight. He knew that his little right hand was left to clean up his mess and keep Hell from imploding onto itself. He had seen all of those little sacrifices pushed off the edge of the altar, a rather humorous look of surprise and betrayal before they plunged to their death. But there was only one girl she allowed to keep for herself. And she killed that one too.

"Oh Belial, why don't you just pull her plug? You know she won't wake up. And if by some miracle given to you by _God_," she smiled at this, he knew she would; God wouldn't give her the time of day. He did name her _worthless_. "If by some miracle, she wakes up, she'll never be your little dollie. She won't have it, you know it. She'd rather strangle you... possibly with her own bare hands."

"Again, I don't have to answer myself to the likes of you." She let kiss linger on the plane of glass and walked out of Amosdeus' mansion.

He waited until she was out of hearing range to strike up a conversation with the Living Dead Girl, "she's gone now. You poor thing; you desperately tried to escape her little web and you end up like this: a doll locked away in a cabinet. I always knew you were different than the others. Smarter. You saw what a lying swindler our little Belial is. Guess it was too late. The others fell in love with her too. But she killed them. You fell in love with her and you killed yourself. Too bad. Really. It's all just too damn bad." He placed hand to where Belial's lips had been only moments ago, "I guess that's why I love her! She's a living, breathing tragedy! And she takes the rest of us for the ride."

* * *

A.N: So, here it is. I'm trying to build up the romantic suspense! -lol- Tell me what you guys think! And I don't think that Absinthe is still legal by that time... Oh and, "Je vais servir la jeune dame" means: "I'll serve the young lady."


	4. Chapter 3

**Chasing White Rabbits**

**Summary**: The Mad Hatter becomes engrossed with a strange human girl. What begins as a break in a routine and to destroy the perfect exemplar of a human, ends in the unloved to be loved. But this love soon fails, for a fallen angel could never be loved nor love.

**Note:** Belial is a WO-man (well, as woman as an angel can get). No question about it. She has no male parts. So, henceforth, Belial will be referred to as a "she". Thank you for your understanding.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, nor do I own Jefferson's Airplane's White Rabbit. And yes, I do believe Mr. Carroll was smoking Opium while writing Alice's Adventures.

* * *

_Chapter Three_

_Miss Alice Falls Asleep on a Riverbank_

Asmodeus looked upon the living corpse with a profound sadness ripping through him that would drive any man to sob, but not Asmodeus. He knew tears meant nothing to Belial and should mean nothing for the victims of her crimes.

He had sensed it; like a nagging throb in the mind. He knew what it was and he came promptly to the tube of the great Living Dead Girl. She was still numb to the world around her, the world that lay now beyond her new life created in her dreams. A real role reversal, Asmodeus mused. Poor creature... But at least she had found peace and solace that could be promised but never met in this world.

She was now under his care, the Mad Hatter's Alice.

"She isn't here, Alice. She has left you. It has been years now. Yes, years... I know you sense that your dreams are fading and the world as it is is finding its way to you. Poor Alice, your trip along the riverbank has come to an end. Mr. Carroll will wake you." He took his cane and stabbed the oversized vile until the glass crack and crashed. The liquid that lay stagnant around her poured out and washed out from beneath his feet. Her dangling feet fell to the bottom of the tube and the wires that poked her flesh pulled out.

She breathed, she had her eyes open... but stumbled to grasp that she was alive. Like a fish out of water she gasped and writhed.

"Alice."

She looked up to him, eyes fixed and breathing eased, "such a strange dream I was having; a dream of yester years.

* * *

Her hand subconsciously held her book in a tight protective grasp against her bosom. Her eyelids holding her dreams so protectively. What dream you, Alice, as you sit here by the riverbank? Where do your dreams come from, Alice? Chase you rabbits in your dreams?

She loved that book, the book from which she was born. The book her mother fed her when she trembled as lightning struck or when they came to reveal her father had died or when her mother lay in her bed, death's clammy hands defiling her in broad day. That beloved book held to her heart. Could the pages feel your pain, Alice?

She sighed in her sleep, moving the book up to her chin, exposing the gold lettering spelling out "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" and "Lewis Carroll" in subscript. One moved down beside her to read it closely and to watch her wake. The sun was warm, One would understate, and Alice was becoming uncomfortable in the disappearing shade. Her head moved to her shoulder, hitting it and waking up suddenly, realizing that she had fallen in a dead sleep on a soft cushy river bank somewhere in Basse-Normandy. Away from her town flat, staying with her mother's cousin, to rest.

One moved One's hand to hers, "it's good to see you, ma chère Alice."

"Of all places, Illusionist. One of your disappearing acts?" One laughed. "It's good to see you."

"Moi wanted to see you again, Alice, truly."

It was her turn to laugh. She couldn't know how she lured One into curious passion; wondering what could possibly make such a woman tick like clockwork? That was for One to know and for her to find out.

"I wanted to thank you for bringing me home that afternoon."

She looked weary, tired... Like she always did. But she could no longer suppress it. She vowed to her brother that they would never leave Rouen, she would care for him in the house of their parents, and they would never be forced to seek the aid of meddling family members. Mother hadn't, why should she? But then, one morning, Alice had woken up like she did every morning and drove herself down to prepare her brother's breakfast. Down the stairs lay her brother and no amount of shaking woke him.

The doctors had declared it to be the work of exhaustion. Stupid blind fools. It was a seizure; plain as day. Le Grand Mal, if you will. It was definitely caused by Meningitis. One saw this, the swelling of his brain. But it was too late. The infection had run its course by the time I touched him in a handshake. Oh poor Alice tore herself. The doctor shook his head as he placed his diagnosis and branded the poor boy as useless and the only one to blame was Alice for not seeking aid; how could she make a young man such as Francis support both himself and his sister! But didn't they see she wanted only the best for him?

"It was Moi's pleasure, ma chère."

She settled herself, laying the book flat on her skirt.

"Alice's Adventures in Wonderland?" One pointed to her book.

"Yes, strange for a grown woman carrying such a book. Strange that I would have read it, period."

"Strange? No; it's nothing more than a classic. So magical and mystical."

Her eyes lit up in glee, "It most certainly takes you for a journey." She looked to One, "you've read it then?"

"Of course."

"My mother named me after Alice. She said that she would always look to me to lead her down rabbit holes and take her on fantastical journeys." She held the book back on her chest, "my mother met Lewis Carroll in London once."

"Had she?"

"She had. Well, she swears it. I was born by that time and my father had a brilliant idea of moving to London. Mother opened her tailor shop and she had heard a man stuttering. It is well known in London that Mr. Carroll stutters, you know. She was so nervous, but she dared to ask his name. He called himself Dodgson, Charles Dodgson. She was mighty disappointed that she discovered several weeks later Mr. Dodgson and Mr. Carroll were one in the same. Look at me, blabbering."

"No, no, please, continue."

She smiled wistfully, "that's all I have to say. I remember she would tell me that story and get so angry. 'I could have shown you to him! The real Alice!' Mother always made me laugh with that. Ack! Please cure me from this insufferable foot-in-mouth disease!"

One laughed. Oh she was so light-hearted, so charming in my presence. Kind, sweet Alice, it is so good to make you smile, to see your guard being let down while One's eyes pry you open.

"That afternoon, there was so much I wanted to speak with you about."

"Oh and how is that?"

"You're a magician?"

"I am."

"Why do you paint your face?"

"I am simply a performer; as an occupation and as a lifestyle."

She looked up to One with those big blue eyes and sighed wistfully, "how the stage seems so magical."

"Until you get on the stage and become one with it. You can never escape the theatrics."

"Life _is_ nothing but a stage and the people: players." One let a smile creep on One's face; Shakespeare, she was under Shakespeare's spells that he casts on his Sonnets.

There was a moment of silence, both of us contemplating on the swollen river, pushing and trashing after a long winter. Nearly five months we have been separated. And, with the card burning in her hand, she tempted herself to see One. But, she couldn't bring herself to do it. One was just being plain wishful, being too forward. One went to see her instead. One had found her in Basse-Normandy, whisked away by a concerned cousin who took her and her seemingly dying brother in without another word. But it was clear to Alice that in her silence, her cousin was condemning her, just like all the other well-to-do professionals back in Paris. But she was far too tired to care and she suffered in silence, as all of the condemning tore her at her very threads. It was a familiar face that lit her to life again.

And it took her dear young flop of a brother to take it away again. He had ordered his pregnant cousin to take him outside to join his sister. Since the incident, he was told to never be alone or to walk and was confided in wheelchair. He must have trained himself to sense One's presence.

She got to her feet suddenly, "what are you doing here, Francis? You shouldn't be out."

"Why not? It's a beautiful day outside."He let his eyes drift off to One, his feelings confirmed, a smug smile reaching his lips.

"You took Eriqua, in her compromising state, to walk you out! I told you I would take you out later this afternoon."She grudgingly took the wheelchair out of her cousin's hands and watched as the burden was lifted off of the already burdened pregnant woman.

One took One's hat off and did a little bow for the young master. "Afternoon, Master Francis." He didn't find it amusing in the least but he acknowledged one's presence all the same, albeit grudgingly.

"What brings you to Basse-Normandy?" He asked through gritted teeth, not bothering to look at One but lost in the flow of the river.

"Moi's troupe is doing a show in Caen."

"You don't say?" Alice responded quite interested. She had never managed to see Caen.

"Hmm," was all Francis could muster. "I do believe it's later on in the day, Alice. Walk me."

"Why are you being so unreasonable?" She hissed as polite as she could.

"Oh why not, Alice? Moi _is_ becoming restless. We should walk further into town; perhaps we would be lucky as to find something to bide the young master's temper?"

Francis let himself smile as sweetly as he could shoot poison in the form of words. Why hadn't he? He didn't know. But the Illusionist was a master at Francis' game and knew the rules better than he did, so he didn't bother saying a word. He knew he would only fluster his sister more and make _himself_ look like an ass. "Delightful. Shall we move on then?"

Alice pushed the wheelchair forward and followed the gravel path onto the freshly raked gravel road. "You are such an agreeable man. If only my brother would show you gratitude as well."

Francis clearly lost so he just smiled at the jester that looked him in the face and gave him the strangest smile. There was something clearly wrong with this man. Francis was blind when it came to judging characters his sister would point out constantly, but he knew that this man was ill and wanting nothing but to spread his illness. But Alice seemed so enthralled by One's presence that he said nothing. He hadn't seen his sister so excited in such a long time and he hadn't the energy to turn One away or the energy to watch his sister suffer in loneliness in No Man's Land. Francis didn't care about anything else but his sister, her wellbeing and happiness that was quite difficult to gain. He never met a man whom had her interest in mind as well. So, then why was this _Illusionist_ here, seeming to court his quickly aging sister. A show in Caen... bullshit! One was personally impressed by the man's reserve in such a situation.

Alice pulled up to a small park stationed by a pond. It was built by retired school teacher whom owned the land and implored his son to build a park. Children were gathered there, swinging each other on swings. Alice explained that she would walk there every afternoon to feed the ducks that waded in the pond while waiting for her cousin who was now sitting by the shade of a tree, alone. "Wait here."

Francis had hoped that he would be taken with her but he was left behind with One. He wasn't going to waste said opportunity. "I'm watching you, Illusionist."

"Moi wouldn't have it any other way, Monsieur Francis."

When One turned to look at Alice, One's sight was intercepted by the glances and innocent glares of children whose curiosity could not be bided. Alice returned with her little neglected niece whose hands ran furiously and cryptically.

"She asks if you can do a little show for the children." Alice decoded her hand signs for One. One couldn't help but oblige; two lovely young ladies asking One to do a show, what was One to do?

One sat the young maiden on One's lap. She was a little rabbit of a girl, meek and tiny. One's hands could nearly wrap themselves around her body twice. She looked at One with wonder in her eyes, fixated on One's lips. One pulled off One's hat and placed it on her head. It nearly swallowed her whole but stood on her head regardless as a rabbit wiggled its way out. Her mouth opened in surprise as she reached on her head for the rabbit. She looked to her cousin who smiled at told her to join the other children who bubbled with excitement.

"You really are amazing."

One looked up to find Alice just as marvelled as the children. She was smiling brightly. "You know, she's always on the outside looking in. Now look at her."

She little cousin was petting the docile rabbit with the children whom gathered around her to have their share. One child pointed to her hat and she promptly returned. She handed the hat to One in one hand and the rabbit in the other. One took it, bowing graciously. She looked to Alice, quickly making a hand movement, causing Alice to laugh and Francis to snort, "true! True!" Alice returned hand movement and pushed her to join the other children eagerly awaiting her return.

"What did she say?"

"She said, 'what's a Mad Hatter without his hat'?"

One placed the hat back on One's head, contemplating, "Mad Hatter? Alice's Mad Hatter. I think it's growing on me."

* * *

A/N: Uh-huh, that's right! Crappy un-beta-ness served to you by yers truly: Project H. Well, as always, R&R. I would really like to know if it's worth my time to complete this. I know you guys are just waiting for the yuri bit. I can tell you: it's a-comin'! But tell me if the relationship means anything. What hot lesbian sex without some good ol' fashion romancin', right? Yeah... Not gonna ask. Well, Project H. is out like a light blub, mothas! PEACE!


	5. Chapter 4

**Chasing White Rabbits**

**Summary**: The Mad Hatter becomes engrossed with a strange human girl. What begins as a break in a routine and to destroy the perfect exemplar of a human, ends in the unloved to be loved. But this love soon fails, for a fallen angel could never be loved nor love.

**Note:** Belial is a WO-man (well, as woman as an angel can get). No question about it. She has no male parts. So, henceforth, Belial will be referred to as a "she". Thank you for your understanding.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, nor do I own Jefferson's Airplane's White Rabbit. And yes, I do believe Mr. Carroll was smoking Opium while writing Alice's Adventures.

* * *

_Chapter Four_

_Queen of Hearts and the Mended Head_

Alice thrashed in her sleep, her limbs finally coming to life as painful and as real as a genuine birth. She began to kick violently at the sheets that Asmodeus was kind enough to envelope the frozen woman in. The heat tore through her and burned everything. Finally, her eyes shot open. Alice was awake.

"Good morning, Ms. Alice."

She knew now more than ever what being awake meant to a poor fool like her. She was no longer in the comfort of her dreams and Asmodeus knew he could tug at her strings to unravel an even more unbecoming reality.

"I said: 'good morning, Ms. Alice'." He sauntered over to the futon where he had laid her after she had collapsed in his arms. She had attempted to stagger away and make an attempt to be like the lady she was raised to be, but after being locked inside a tube for nearly a century, there was nothing left of her constructed composure. That composure left her sometime ago, perhaps it left the night she took her own life, and it wasn't about to return to her anytime soon. She grunted a response and drew her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth, and swaying side to side.

"Well, you're in an awful mood—"

"Shut up. Shut the _hell_ up, Asmodeus."

He bit his lip to hide the sheer joy that ran through him at that moment. The woman was unravelling. The young little virgin bride was tearing herself apart.

"I'm glad to see you're up and about. Honestly when Belial walked in here with you all bloody like—"

She leapt from the futon, her gown barely keeping up with her pace, and took the Satan by the collar, "Belial did this to me!"

The Satan looked into the woman's eyes and no longer saw Alice. It was impossible they were the same woman. "What did she do to you?" He exclaimed more than questioned. The transformation was something to fear. Belial created a monster in the stead of her virgin sacrifice.

"You tell me!" She let go of his collar to clasp at her face. She began to cry as her nails scratched away at her face. What a sight, Asmodeus thought to himself, what a beautiful sight.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, gently caressing it, "oh, my dearest Alice. Belial is to... _blame_ for all of your woes... Look at you! Crying! In the name of some deranged Satan? Oh, Alice... it is time to get your revenge."

She looked up at him, eyes dry yet red from crying. There wasn't any liquid left in her body. "To kill your _beloved_ Belial?" A sickly smile came to her lips, "I'd be honoured."

What had he done? The woman was in a crazed state. He couldn't play puppeteer with a puppet holding scissors. This was a woman who was in love. This was a woman who had been betrayed and blindly so. This was a woman whom had taken her life in her own hands, defiled her chance to return to Heaven all in the name of her love. This was a woman whom was betrayed twice. This was a woman who was no longer a woman at all.

"I can teach you how to kill the Mad Hatter." He was just as mad as the rest of them. Even more so now as he tried to direct the berserk woman to his object of unrequited desires. To kill the Satan? To kill his beloved Belial? It was in his nature. Just like it was in this woman turned rabid monster. "I know how you can exact your revenge, my dearest Alice."

"Revenge? No, no! You see Asmodeus, Alice would have craved revenge. She would crave it and crave it until her body turned itself inside out. But you see Asmodeus, Alice is no longer. The Queen of Hearts, it is she who reigns over this shabby body. The Queen of Hearts wishing nothing more than to cut off some heads."

Asmodeus laughed. Nervously. He knew he was in the wrong this time. He was no Belial. He was way in over his head. This woman... she was a walking time bomb and he was well in her line of fire. Perhaps if he tossed her far enough in the pit...she wouldn't direct her rage towards him? Maybe if he threw her far enough, she could...get herself to the King of Hell. It was in his nature to think up tricks, after all.

"Well then, in the words of Alice herself: 'we are all mad down here'!"

Bitterness could almost be palpable in the room. One could almost fell it in One's bones. Alice seemed to lament over the same cup of tea she served herself hours ago, swirling the dark liquid around with expertise. Francis failed to get any better. She was still stranded away from civilization. She was lost without her work to preoccupying herself. She attempted to foreign a relationship with her cousin but her cousin called her upon her lie pointing out the fact that they had nothing in common. Eriqua was married, she crocheted doilies, she was going to be a mother, and she enjoyed the frivolous company of her fake rich friends from Caen. Alice was a working woman, she hated Eriqua's friends, she didn't quite understand her husband either and was rather frightened of children and the soft spot on their head.

One hadn't told Alice of One's secret surgeries. Humans are terribly brutal creatures and would cut up each other to cure their ales. Angels (Fallen or not) perform the task beneath the skin; our powers seemingly to be to their benefit. Slowly, Francis will heal. In the mean time, One will stay near this virgin bride prospect, healing her own fresh wounds. She felt terribly responsible and alone.

One extended One's hand, reaching for hers, touching them lightly. Her eyes flashed upward, a fresh pink tinge to the apples of her cheeks. "Are you alright, ma chère?"

"Oh yes. Sorry. I'm not such great company today." She let One's touch linger, locking her glare with One's. She smiled, letting her hands slip away from mine and looked out the window. It begun to rain sometime ago. Splatters formed into droplets again and slowly trickled their way done the pane of glass. "He doesn't seem to be getting any better."

"This... worries you?"

She looked up at One, a faint look of disgust on her face."Of course." Francis became her last hope over the years; the last hope of having a family, of not being alone. If Francis were to die, she would be alone in the world; nothing left to live for.

Silence seemed to creep into the conversation again and One could almost hear the rats upstairs conspire. Francis was beside himself. Why was the eccentric performer in their presence again? Why could Alice rid herself of such a terrible influence? Why couldn't she care about what the others had to say of her? Her fake little friends back in Rouen refused to send letters as long as Alice continued to be the bane of their feminine existence. But One knew that they were just jealous that Alice could live out such a fantasy while they had to make do with their inattentive husbands.

"Care to escape with Moi?" Her head nearly snapped with the sudden movement. One pointed to the floor above. She knew that Francis was up in his room, listening through the vents. Although she placed her entire meaning of existence on him, she couldn't help but feel like she was suffocating. One would offer her a way to escape.

"Where would we go?"

"Caen."

"It's a ways walk." She smirked.

"You think Moi can't own a carriage? Moi is very hurt."

One led her out of the stingy old home out into the open fields surrounding it. A carriage was laying in wait. Like it appeared out of no where... The look of surprise on her face was nearly priceless. One awaited her to aide her onto the carriage step. She looked rather confused, looking at One as if questioning. She took One's hand attentively and eventually caught on. She smiled, "what a gentleman."

"Moi tries."

The carriage carried along as soon as One entered. The ride was silent, it was only when the carriage slowed to a halt did the young Alice speak up, "where have you take me now, Hatter?"

One laughed, seeing the playful smirk on her lips. "_Au pays des merveilles_, where else?" She took One's hand, this time with little hesitation. Whatever lay outside, she was certain she was bound for a treat.

"Is this the theatre?" She said, rather incapable of holding back her awe.

"Not quite yet... You see, Moi purchased this but days ago. I was hoping to get your approval." One looked over to Alice to see her completely marvelled. She was surprised to see One as an entrepreneur but she was certain that One's tricks was a treat.

"This is so wonderful, Hatter!" She smiled at One.

"Care to enter?"

One was elated. Truly. The woman was a marvel. She was so deeply tangled in One's web. She laughed and giggled her way in, sat on the stage and watch as One pulled blue rose after blue rose out of One's hat.

"Oh Hatter! I can't believe this!" She took back her words and searched in her pockets, "I suppose you would like my ticket then?"

"You keep Moi's ticket in your pocket?" She blushed and stopped looking for the thing. "Moi is honoured..."

"Oh hush!" She murmured.

"This is a free showing, ma chère."

There was a moment of silence before she spoke in a most grave tone, "I should return home."

One needed to think quickly, "did Moi insult you?"

She shook her head while avoiding eye contact, "this isn't proper." One was about to contest, "you have to understand, Hatter. I feel it inside of me that you wouldn't dishonour me, "again, about to contest, silently so, "but I cannot shame my brother... I cannot throw away my name in vain."

"You care so much for him..."

She smiled, looking at One finally, "yes. He is all that remains of me."

"That is much to place on him." Sorrow took hold of her face. One was so ashamed of Oneself... One could do better than drive her away by spewing self-righteous bullshit!

"I know..."

One took her home in silence. One led her to her quarters in silence.

One passed by the young master's room, peering in to find him posted by the fire in his velvet chair, glaring at the entrance, "evening."

"Evening."

"My sister gone to her room?"

"Yes, Moi escorted her."

"I'm certain you did."

"Moi hasn't spoiled the lady." One assured. No, you have gotten in the way!

He sighed, not of relief. "You misunderstand me, Clown. Her friends... they have lost contact with her."

"And..."

"I do believe it is your doing." One was about to speak and say something snippy, but young master Francis beat One to it, "I'm not blaming you in any way. Alice... she has finally gotten rid of whatever baggage that has been tying her down to Rouen... Perhaps she will stay here in Caen, away from those frivolous maids... Women these days have become so fake. None can stand in the light of great maidens like Queen Victoria, Jeanne D'Arc, Sappho... Real women! They laugh that she writes and can read and can do complicated arithmetic... that she has surpassed them. When father died... she had to give up school but refused to become like the rest of them. All in secret. She began to write again... after meeting you."

"Francis... Moi can't be your only hope--"

"Please, just don't give her a reason to give up." His eyes slowly drooped close, "I've been dreaming of a time machine, to take both of us both to a time far away from here, where we are both free... strange , isn't it?"

"You are tired..."

"Yes. Very much so. I think I am dying, Clown..."

"No you are not. Moi cannot allow this." One took One's hand to his forehead, feeling for the swelling in his brain. It died down since One's secret treatments and now it would be the last. "Good night, monsieur Francis."

"Good night, Clown, good night."

One knew why One chased the dear Alice... it was all so amusing. Entrapping, weaving... One has upped One's game. A game One wasn't quite sure One would win, which made it all the more enthralling. Dearest Alice, if only you knew, if only you had an idea... the spell I've put on you.

* * *

A/N: Wasn't feeling this chappie... Will probably review at a later date.


End file.
